


A Very Special Christmas Pudding

by Call_Me_Clarence



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Crack, Crack, I did not know Anderson's first name was philip, Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge 2019, Mrs. Hudson's herbal soothers, Recreational Drug Use, christmas pudding, edibles, edibles gone awry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_Clarence/pseuds/Call_Me_Clarence
Summary: That time Mrs. H accidentally drugged everyone at Scotland Yard.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28
Collections: Kat's Johnlock Xmas 2019





	A Very Special Christmas Pudding

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Очень особенный рождественский пудинг](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973840) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Written for Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge, Day 11. The prompt was Xmas Pudding.

“Mrs. Hudson!” John was calling her name before he’d even made it down the stairs from his flat. “Mrs. Hudson! You in?” Martha could hear him asking, banging away on her front door.

“Come on in, dear!” Martha called out, not wanting to miss a moment of her evening show. She’d been watching it for ten years now almost religiously, and there was promised to be a major upheaval for one of the characters love lives. Martha had money down on the outcome. Quite a bit more than she’d like to admit, actually. But what could she say, we all had our vices. At least hers were gambling. Her ex-husbands had been murder and cocaine. She could be doing much worse.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you have anything I could take with me to Scotland Yard? There’s this Christmas party, and I’ve only just now got the text that we should bring some sort of food, or something.”

  
“Yes, yes.” Martha waved him off towards the kitchen. “Take what you like, love.” She kept her eyes fixed on the screen. If Crystal’s character died in this scene she’d lose her bet. But if she managed to survive, or better yet, kill the character she shared the scene with, Emily, then Mrs. H would be over a hundred quid richer.

There were hurried sounds from the kitchen as John jerked open the fridge and found something to take.

“Ta!” John called before rushing back out the front door.

Martha just waved a hand, even though he’d already gone.

\------

  
  


“Of course I intend to carry through on the bet! You know very well that if it was me who had lost, you wouldn’t hesitate for one moment before marching down here and demanding your winnings… Yes, a get together does sound lovely. Alright, I’ll see you Sunday. Ta, Leanne.” 

Martha hung up the phone, smiling. She was going to treat herself today. And she knew just how she’d like to begin her pampering.

As she made her way into the kitchen, she thought of how maybe watching telly with Sherlock really was leading to some rather fine pay offs, if the hundred quid she’d just made wasn’t anything to laugh at.

Opening her fridge, she had to close the door again, and her eyes. “No, no. You haven’t eaten it already.” she told herself, before opening the fridge back up.

But there it was, a large open space in the middle shelf, where there should be a Christmas Pudding. Where could it have--

“Oh! Bugger!” Martha gasped, rushing to grab her coat, phone, and keys, and then all but flinging herself out the door and down the steps and into a waiting cab, knocking the people who were about to get in out of the way.

“Scotland Yard, now! It’s an emergency!” She told the cabbie, and they peeled out of Baker Street like a bat out of Hell.

\-----

She was too late. Much, much too late. 

Martha looked on in horror at what had once been a normal office Christmas party, and what had now turned into… well, she wasn't exactly sure how to describe it, except it looked a lot like those underground clubs she used to frequent in her teen years, where everyone sat on the floor and would smoke herbal soothers until the room had a thick cloud of it hanging just above everyone’s head. Even the bands would sit, on occasion, or else lose sight of their audience in the haze.

To be fair only Sally Donovan was actually on the floor, staring at her hands as if they truly disturbed her on some deep and spiritual level.

Had Martha mentioned yet that this particular Christmas Pudding had loads of herbal soothers baked in? 

It really chafed against her good conscience, in one, that she’d just accidentally drugged the whole of Scotland Yard, and two, that she’d spent all morning decarboxylating her herbs in order to bake them into something, and now other people had tasted the fruits of her labor, while she got absolutely nothing… except maybe some jail time. Oh, dear.

“Where do you think he’s taking those?” 

Martha jumped at the sound of Lestrade’s voice from behind her. She turned and saw that Greg was in fact not talking to her, but to John. They both sat loose and dazed in office chairs--next to Anderson who was spinning his own chair ‘round and ‘round.

“Don’t know.” John shrugged, back of his head resting on his chair, watching everything through puffy, lidded eyes.

Martha followed their gaze and saw Sherlock, who of course looked stoned as well. ‘Didn’t like Christmas Pudding’ he’d say. Though he always ended up having more helpings than anyone else when she did cook one up. 

Sherlock had his arms full of case files, lugging them down the hallway and out the doors of Scotland Yard.

“I mean, he doesn’t have a car out there, does he?” Lestrade asked, sliding slowly out of his chair.

“No,” John shook his head, bringing his hand up to stroke his chin in an almost Sherlockian move. “We took a cab here.”

“I wonder…” Lestrade yawned as he slid to the floor. John giggled at the sight. Anderson watched the DI on the floor and decided it was a good idea, so stopped his chair from spinning and then made to join the man, laying spread eagle on the floor and moving his arms and legs as if he were trying to make snow-angels.

This situation was not good, Martha knew she was going to be in so much trouble… for… this....

But why? She hadn’t been the one to bring the pudding in, had she? It wasn’t her fault that John had taken the wrong thing from her fridge… maybe she could just leave, and then hope that this would somehow all blow over? 

Martha turned to leave, and let out a little yelp as she saw Sherlock standing directly behind her.

“Mrs. Hudson,” he started, narrowing his puffy eyes at her, glaring, before his glare broke into a smile. “Thank you, ever so much.”

“Thank me?” she asked, and then squeaked as Sherlock drew her into a bear-hug. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Your herbal soothers, apparently.” he pulled back, smiling mischievously. “What a brilliant prank.”

“Oh, Sherlock. You must know that I’d never--”

“Oh, I know.” Sherlock waved a hand to dismiss her. “But nevertheless, it appears John took the wrong confectionery from your fridge. And now that everyone is good and distracted, or inebriated, as it were, I can now easily win the bet.”

“You made a bet?” She had just been thinking about leaving here and going directly to pick her own winnings up. “What bet?”

“Lestrade and John bet against me that I couldn’t get Lestrade to give up one-hundred case files during the Christmas party.” Sherlock grinned maniacally. “I am now at two-hundred and fifty-three. Cold cases has taken a pretty hefty hit, but I’ve made sure to broaden my horizons to burglary, arson, and of course  _ murder _ .” 

“That’s nice, dear.” Martha said distractedly, patting him on the shoulder, “But I’m, um, late for a hair appointment.”

“At seven pm?” Sherlock asked with a brow scrunched up in confusion. “Oh!” his face lit up in understanding. “Yes, make your escape. Though it’s hardly as if anyone would notice your presence.” 

“Ta!” Martha called nervously as she all but ran out of the Yard. 

Well, that was the last time she kept edibles in the flat! With her boys lodging upstairs it was just too much of a risk. 

Getting into a cab she agitatedly gave the cabbie the address of Leanne. She better have Mrs. Hudson’s money. She was far from being in the mood to deal with her if she didn’t.

  
  


The End

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, the song 'Bitch Better Have My Money' by Rihanna was playing in my head as Mrs.H drove away in the cab to collect her money lmao!
> 
> Hope you liked it. Thanks for taking the time to read. This was... really an excuse to get the Yard high af. Thank you Mrs. H for being the catalyst for my dumb shenanigans ;)


End file.
